Simon’s mouth fell agape as he glared at Jonas with a dumb expression painted on his face. Jonas had nearly died from provoking one top-five fighter, and there he was provoking another. Never in his entire life had he met someone like Jonas, and the closest comparison he could think of was his resemblance to a honey badger. They both had no fear, they both had no sense of self-preservation, and they both would pick fights with nearly anything. Although Simon might have secretly found Jonas’ arrogance impressive, Ahmed did not.

“Jonas believes himself clever,” Ahmed said coolly, “He is one of many fools who’ve tried to be clever in Hell.”

“Maybe I’m a fool,” said Jonas, “But at least I haven’t spent the last thousand years being a slave, bitch,” and Simon nearly shit his pants. At first, it appeared like Ahmed would explode in anger, but instead, he nodded his head gently and said, “No you have not, but you will,” and then he attacked.

Jonas was shocked at the speed of the attack which had much more effort than it had before. Ahmed reached him in the blink of an eye and Jonas barely had time to react as he focused on parrying and dodging the cobra-like attacks that had been sent his way.

Being punched by Ahmed felt like getting hit by the handle of a metal baseball bat; small, precise, and extremely painful. However, as Jonas slowly rose out of the sand and wiped the blood off his nose, he was excited about a fight for the first time in a long time.

Finally, he got to fight someone who was the same size as himself, although, he would admit it still wasn't fair to himself, trying to fight a man who had over a thousand years to train.

Jonas attacked without mercy, his hits were weaker, and his movement was slow and wasteful, but Ahmed noticed that the young man had a strange vigor around him, one that made his instincts go off like an alarm. His gaze closed in on the back of Jonas’ hands and there was a slight twitch in his expression as he noticed the very faint glowing crosses. Perhaps to the untrained eye, they wouldn’t have noticed, but Ahmed knew very well what they were. His Sin Scars began to glow at the provocation.

“Fuck!” Jonas growled as Ahmed karate chopped the back of his head and threw him aside like something useless.

“So much waste,” said Ahmed who hadn’t even broken a sweat, “I thought you might have some skill to back up your foul mouth, but men like you are all the same, so much bark, so much potential, but absolutely no balls to do anything about it,” and he added, “I think the modern expression is to call you a pussy?” to which Jonas nearly died of anger.

“You’re calling me a pussy?” asked Jonas rhetorically as he winced through the pain and once again approached his opponent, stopping just outside Ahmed’s reach. “Care to make a bet?” Both Ahmed and Simon had the same reaction as their eyebrows rose in surprise.

“I don’t typically make bets with dummy slaves,” said Ahmed, but he shot a friendly smile and added, “I’ll humor you though, what’s the bet?”

“Give me one week,” said Jonas, “I’ll toss your ass out of this pit in one week,” and even Ahmed lost his composure for a moment, let alone Simon whose legs felt like jelly while he wondered why his new friend loved being near-death so much. He truly was just like a honey badger.

“Toss me out of this pit in one week?” asked Ahmed, he stroked his beard as he contemplated the young man, “It’s not good to be so impulsive, though I do remember what it was like to be young.”

“Save it for someone who cares,” said Jonas, “Do you want to accept the terms or not, pussy?” and Ahmed laughed lightly.

“Do tell me what the terms of the bet are before I decide?”

“If I win,” said Jonas, who hadn’t thought of any prize that he wanted, “You have to bring a beer for me, every day,” and Ahmed looked completely bewildered.

“A beer?” he asked slowly, “You’ve offended me, over a beer?”

“Not my fault you get offended so easily,” Jonas added, “I’m trying to prove a point.”

“What’s in it for me if you fail?” and Ahmed was highly doubtful that a poor slave who had been in Hell for less than a month could ever offer anything of substance.

“What do you want?” Jonas stared curiously at him, and he was contemplating whether Ahmed would ask for a blowjob. Thankfully, Ahmed wasn’t a pervert like his fellow top-five member, Garth.

“Okay,” he began, “I’ll humor you. If you are unable to throw me out of the arena one week from today, I want you to cut off your left hand,” and both Jonas and Simon froze on the spot.

“You’re serious?” Jonas was in disbelief, “You want me to trade a left hand for a fucking beer?” and Ahmed neither smiled nor frowned, but simply stood strong with a straight face.

“Why would I accept a bet that benefits you, a person who is below me in status?” Ahmed reasoned, “The reality of it is, if you want to regain your pride and honor, you need to put something of value on the table. Don’t pretend that this has anything to do with beer, you’re simply trying to distract me from your inferiority.”

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

“Fuck!” Jonas stared daggers at the man, “Are you a fucking therapist, or a thousand-year-old slave?”

“Before I was your therapist and before I was a slave, I was a goat herder,” he said, “Men can be many things, all it takes is time and the right circumstances to come along,” and seeing Jonas’ doubtful look he added, “Do you dare accept the bet that you proposed?” and how could Jonas possibly back out now that he had provoked the old warrior so many times?

“Of course, I accept,” said Jonas, “It’s only a left hand, I use my right to drink anyways.”

“Good!” boomed Ahmed, “A man must be firm with his actions, show me where your confidence comes from!”

Jonas wasn’t feeling very fearful, and perhaps his youthful ignorance allowed him to ignore the future consequences of his actions, or perhaps Hell had finally started taking a toll on his personality. Whatever the reason, he still charged toward Ahmed and began fighting him with everything he had.

It was an extreme beatdown that caused Simon to wince. No matter how many times Jonas got back up and wiped the blood off his face, or how many times he spit a broken tooth, he couldn’t beat Ahmed nor could he even come close to dealing realistic damage.

Jonas was panting on one knee, while crimson blood poured from a wound on his forehead. He scooped a handful of sand and packed the wound which made it sting badly and his eyes began to water. His breathing was heavy, and he was so exhausted that he felt like he had just run a marathon.

“Fucking Christ,” thought Jonas as he squinted at Ahmed, “He’s not even panting, what kind of stamina is that?” He knew as well as anyone that there was no medicine for regret and he would have to face the music one week from that day, and if he was honest with himself as a man, he liked his left hand where it was.

“Wasted movements,” said Ahmed, “Why do you hop and skip like a dancer when you are not?” he tilted his head as he berated Jonas in a very calm tone, “Why do you challenge those bigger than you, stronger than you, more courageous, and more violent than you?”

Ahmed strode forward and began looking down his straight nose at Jonas, his dark eyes had shadows around them that made him appear slightly menacing, “You are nothing but a peacock strutting around with all your fancy colors, but unable to fly.”

“What, was kicking my ass not enough for you?” Jonas shook his head at him, “Asshole, if this is all you can do after a thousand years you might as well start bringing my beers now,” and he willed himself to his feet, staring eye to eye with Ahmed, ‘Drake would have beat this pussy back to the third crusade,” Jonas amped himself up, and he threw a quick punch that Ahmed dodged easily, and Jonas was promptly thrown face-first into the sand.

“Stop running into a wall that you cannot climb,” Ahmed looked somberly at Jonas who was sprawled out painfully on the ground, “The measure of a man-” he began to say but was cut off.

“Shut the fuck up!” and he slowly got back to his feet once more, “You’re not special, you’re not unique, you’re just a guy who was born way before me. Be honest,” Jonas added, “If you were your eighteen-year-old self right now, do you think you would stand a chance against me?” and Ahmed considered his words for a moment.

“You’re correct,” he said after some consideration, “My eighteen-year-old self would not stand a chance against you. I was a weak-hearted person, completely inclined to a life of farming and mediocracy. Although I didn’t have a shred of talent for fighting or the harshness of war, I was much more prepared for Hell than you, a person who lived during the modern era of peace and prosperity. Ignore talent for a moment, do you think your soft mentality can compare to me, a person who lived during the most brutal era of human history?”

Jonas was at a loss for words. Ahmed had a point, what good was all that talent if all it belonged to a person who couldn’t stomach the brutality of the medieval ages, let alone Hell.

“Regardless,” Jonas said, “My original point still stands, stop being so sanctimonious towards a person that will eventually surpass you.”

“And my point still over-rules yours,” said Ahmed, “I have the power to do what I wish, and you do not. If I want to lecture you, I may. If I want to beat you silly, I will, and if I want to slit your throat and watch you bleed out in this arena, I’ll use my dagger to do so because I have the power to do these things. Fuck talent, fuck your heroic nonsense and fuck your opinion. Here in this pit, I make the rules and if you don’t like it, beat me.”

Jonas conceded the argument, but he wasn’t happy about it. His mind trailed back to that conversation he previously had with his brother, about how only those with power could have peace.

“Power,” said Jonas, “I don’t give a shit about power,” and for the umpteenth time that day, he slowly rose to his feet, “I know who I am, and I know that I’m better than you, it’s not a matter of if, it’s just a matter of when,” neither noticed that the crosses on Jonas’ hands had begun to flicker, and he swung a tired punch that caused Ahmed to feel like rolling his eyes.

However, just as the warrior went to smack it away like an annoying fly, he barely had time to dodge a decapitating kick that Jonas had suddenly twisted into, which resulted in the bottom of Jonas’ foot just scraping the tip of Ahmed’s nose.

“You should have stepped forward,” said Ahmed who was slightly impressed that Jonas could keep going, “You should have predicted that I’d dodge the kick, and you should have compensated for the dodge by stepping forward, which would have completely negated the distance I would have covered by dodging,” and Ahmed’s foot exploded outwards like a cannonball and Jonas barely had time to dodge.

At least at that moment, he thought he had properly dodged the kick. However, he had misjudged the attack and instead of the roundhouse kick that he had been expecting, Ahmed used the momentum to slide his body forward and side-kick Jonas straight in the face. There was a smacking sound that sounded like gunfire, and Jonas was sent flying backward.

“Jonas!” Simon ran over to check on his friend and realized he had been knocked completely unconscious.

“Your friend has a fire in his belly,” said Ahmed.

“He’s, uh,” began Simon, “He’s something alright,” but like usual, he wasn’t sure how to talk to the old desert warrior.

“Drag him over to the side and let’s continue the spar, I still need to loosen up.”